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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29988288">Give Me a Hand</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolumbidae/pseuds/coolumbidae'>coolumbidae</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Umbrella Academy (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aged-Up Number Five | The Boy, Hand Jobs, M/M, Post-Season/Series 03, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Sibling Incest, Sparring</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 18:14:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,178</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29988288</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolumbidae/pseuds/coolumbidae</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m surprised you’ve made it this far in life,” Five comments one day during a break. “I’ve beaten you twenty eight times, roughly.”</p><p>“Yeah, well the assholes I’m taking care of on the streets aren’t annoying little shits who can teleport."</p><p>--</p><p>In which Five strikes up an offer to help Diego with his combat skills.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Number Five | The Boy/Diego Hargreeves</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>86</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Give Me a Hand</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sometimes, Diego likes to train back at the academy. </p><p> </p><p>It gives him an excuse to make a little more of his visit from across the city, other than just spending time with Mom and whoever else might be home during the week. The solitude of the training facility in the basement is a welcomed and peaceful change from the gym, where he often gets bothered by chatty gym goers or Al harassing him about his rent. He likes that he can completely focus at the academy and if so desired, the basement has the means to let him entertain other ideas like cardio on the treadmill or projectile manipulation in the shooting range. </p><p> </p><p>Diego’s in the midst of a heavy bag workout with only a minute left on the interval. He’s been working out for some time now, at least an hour and a half, and his shirt is stained ten shades darker than it once was with sweat. His hair has since fallen from the tie he normally uses to keep it out of his eyes and brown strands cling wetly to his face and neck. His arms, shoulders, and back scream through the last sixty seconds of his work out, and he rides that painful high until the very end when his phone timer goes off. </p><p> </p><p>Diego rips his gloves off to silence the timer and pulls the damp front of his shirt up to wipe at his forehead. His heart rate is through the roof and he can feel it pounding wildly against his chest and in his throat. He rests his hands on his hips, stabilizing his breaths by inhaling slowly through his nose and out his mouth. His heavy puffs for air are punctuated by the punching bag swaying back and forth, its chain creaking with each swing of its weight. </p><p> </p><p>“You know, you’d probably be better at hand to hand combat if you practiced with an actual opponent instead of a bag of sand.”</p><p> </p><p>Diego jerks back with the sound of an unexpected voice, spinning about to see Five leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. Though it's been months since Five struck up a deal with Dot and Herb to acquire a new body, Diego is still not used to seeing him in his current physical state. Hovering about his mid to late twenties now, he’s taller, more filled in while still remaining lean, and carries himself with a newly found level of grace. Five’s face is unabashedly handsome with his wide jawline, high cut cheekbones, and olive green eyes. His hair lies combed to the right as it always did before and his taste in clothing is simplistic yet stylish, sporting khaki fitted pants and a long sleeve blue button down. He looks like a preppy university  asshole, the kind whose parents footed the entirety of his tuition while he fucked off for years for a degree in business.</p><p> </p><p>Diego would never admit it out loud, but at times it’s utterly disarming how attractive he is. It’s not as if Diego has a specific type in men — it’s just that Five seems to tick all the boxes for him.  Klaus always did say he was going to grow up hot and Diego ended up owing him twenty bucks over that one. </p><p> </p><p>He brings himself to full height and cocks a challenging eye towards Five. “What was that?”</p><p> </p><p>Five’s chest deflates with an impatient sigh. “I said—”</p><p> </p><p>“No, I <em> heard </em>you.” Diego relishes in the irritated frown Five gives him at being cut off. “I just find it pretty funny that you’re gonna sit here and lecture me about my training when I’m hands down the best fighter in the family.”</p><p> </p><p>“Subjectively speaking, of course.” </p><p> </p><p>“Subjectively? No no no asshole, I <em> am </em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“Really?” Five’s face twists with amused skepticism. “So the family’s best fighter is you, the one who got shanked by dad in Dallas?”</p><p> </p><p>“Low blow, man.” There’s a pause and Diego has to make a conscious effort to keep his hand from drifting near the old scar on his abdomen. “He cheated.”</p><p> </p><p>“There’s no cheating in a battle. You either do what it takes to survive or you risk dying over some idiotic claim to heroism.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re soundin’ a lot like the old man there.”</p><p> </p><p>“Clever,” Five answers dryly.  </p><p> </p><p>A small bout of guilt wriggles in Diego’s chest over the way Five’s expression hardens at his comparison. He shoos it away, instead pressing on with, “Anyway, who’s gonna train with me?” Diego sizes him up with a quick flick of the eyes. “You? What do you weigh, 140 soaking wet? And don’t you always got shit going on? What’s with all the sudden free time?”</p><p> </p><p>Five shrugs. “My schedule opened up with my employer recently — consider it a leave of absence.” He peels himself from the doorway and Diego catches a familiar roguish glint in his eyes. “And you should know better than anyone not to judge a combatant by their size.” </p><p> </p><p>Five vanishes unexpectedly in a blue light. The flash of him tearing and disappearing through space is the only warning Diego gets, and it’s just enough for him to complete a half turn before Five swipes a leg beneath both of his feet, knocking him flat on his ass. He groans, his already sore body absolutely throbbing from the impact. Five looms over him, his lips curled crookedly, and his fingers pointed in the shape of a gun at Diego’s forehead. </p><p> </p><p>“Especially when he can teleport,” Five says derisively. “You’re dead, by the way.” </p><p> </p><p>Five unfolds his extended hand to offer Diego help up. Diego knocks it away, scowling at him and rising back to his feet. He hopes the exertion of his work out is enough to camouflage the heat of embarrassment rising to his neck and face. </p><p> </p><p>“We do this,” he growls, ignoring the incredibly distracting and cocky grin Five gives him, “no powers.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well unfortunately for you, I’m not in the mood for negotiation today.” </p><p> </p><p>“That just sounds like you know you can’t handle this,” Diego pounds a fist to his abdomen, “without ‘em.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh don’t worry, Diego. I <em> know </em>I don’t need them to beat you. Never have.”</p><p> </p><p>“You sure as shit ain’t convincing me.”</p><p> </p><p>Five quirks a brow at him. “Have you ever thought of using that hominin brain of yours to consider matters a bit deeper than just surface level?” His jab draws a short, incredulous bark of a laugh from Diego. Five continues talking before he can counter. </p><p> </p><p>“<em>Think </em> about it, Diego. We know there are at least twenty nine other super powered adults out there, none of whose powers we know the finite details of. I’ve run the numbers. There’s roughly an 82.3% probability of any one of us bumping into one of them in the future.”</p><p> </p><p>Of <em> course </em>Five has done the math. He probably scribbled the numbers all over the walls of his bedroom at inane hours of the night, throwing back countless cups of coffee and scrubbing at his forehead when the equation got too complicated. Diego tends to do a loop by the academy most nights when he is in the midst of his vigilante work, oftentimes parking for a short time just to make sure there is nothing suspicious going on. Unlike Luther or Klaus’ rooms, the light of Five’s room is always on whether it’s midnight or four in the morning. Most times Diego can catch a glimpse of Five through the crack in his curtains, scrawling illegible characters across his walls. </p><p> </p><p>Diego would be a liar if he claimed he never sat and observed Five for a bit before moving on with his night’s work. He sees no harm in it, especially when the police radar is only offering static. He’s fascinated by all the small quirks Five displays more often when he isn’t around anyone else - the constant fidgeting of his hands, the muted words he speaks aloud to himself, and the frequent rubbing at the back of his neck in thought.</p><p> </p><p>Not to mention the way his shirt rises just enough to reveal a strip of skin on his abdomen or back anytime he stretches an arm to reach the highest spots of his walls ain’t half bad either.</p><p> </p><p>“Think of it as augmented training,” Five rattles on, never missing a beat. “Training with me at my full potential will keep you from getting complacent - improve your reaction time. And maybe you’ll  last a few seconds longer if you can pretend you might actually hit me with one of your knives.”</p><p> </p><p>Diego debates this. Five’s right, not that he wants to admit it, and he supposes that the entire academy has been getting a bit lax with practicing their powers since the threat of the Sparrows dissipated. He lets the idea stew, stretching the silence between them while gathering up his phone, boxing gloves, and water bottle from the floor. He faces Five when he’s done and offers a short nod. </p><p> </p><p>“Fine. But we start tomorrow. I’m ready for a shower.”</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>Diego is in the midst of stretching when Five shows up, clad in mostly the same exact pants and shirt combination as the day prior, albeit in different colors. Diego can’t hold back a snort or the disbelieving smile that stretches across his lips at the sight. </p><p> </p><p>“For real?” he asks, switching his quad stretch to the opposite leg. </p><p> </p><p>Five adjusts the button of his sleeve, shooting Diego a sideways look as he does so. “For real what?”</p><p> </p><p>“What you’re wearing.”</p><p> </p><p>“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”</p><p> </p><p>Diego’s eyebrows rise. “You’re here to train,” he states slowly. “You know, break a sweat?”</p><p> </p><p>Five finishes adjusting his sleeve. “I don’t intend on that happening.”</p><p> </p><p>Diego balks. He isn’t sure whether to focus on the offensiveness of Five’s claim or the incredulity of it, so he settles on simply shaking his head and responding, “Whatever man. Just don’t get pissed at me when you get blood on your clothes.”</p><p> </p><p>It all really <em> is </em>a ridiculous choice of clothing… though it also is an incredibly good look on Five, so Diego doesn’t push the matter any further. He certainly doesn’t mind if the ass he’s kicking doubles as eye candy. </p><p> </p><p>He works on finishing his stretches while Five takes a stroll around the perimeter of the room and<em> christ</em>, even his brown loafers are in no way appropriate for sparring. Diego rolls his eyes, wondering if Five even owns sweatpants or sneakers because the closest thing Diego has seen him in are his pajamas and slippers. Five doesn’t pay him much mind, absently inspecting the contents of the room, peering through the shelves filled with miscellaneous workout equipment. </p><p> </p><p>“What are the rules?” Five asks after a good minute of comfortable silence.</p><p> </p><p>Diego bobs his head in thought. “How about if you wind up in a ‘you’d probably be dead’ position, you lose.”</p><p> </p><p>Five considers this for a moment and shrugs. “Fair enough. You finished?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, just need to—”</p><p> </p><p>There’s a flash of light and then an unexpected fist colliding with Diego’s abdomen. Diego doubles over with a groan and Five’s opposite hand is already tearing a blade from Diego’s harness. The force of Five’s hit is disarming only for a brief moment. Diego catches Five’s wrist as he pulls it away, knife in hand, and Diego twists hard. Five hisses with pain and the knife falls to the ground between them with a thud. Diego blocks a left hook to the face and Five twists his torso out of the way of Diego’s retaliation. Five manages a distracting hit to the ribs and pulls another knife from Diego in the same motion, blinking away the moment it’s curled between his fingers. </p><p> </p><p>Five’s foot meets the back of Diego’s right knee hard and it caves forward, crashing into the compression flooring. Fingers bunch in Diego’s hair and pull his head back with a jarring yank, drawing a short yelp from him, and the sharp edge of a cool blade presses against his throat. For a second, Diego entertains the idea of attempting to gain control of the situation again and quickly sees no way out. His hands rise, palms open, in surrender.</p><p> </p><p>He feels Five’s hot breath against his cheek and can hear the smirk on his lips as he croons, “<em>Dead</em>,” against his ear. Diego suppresses a shudder and instead clenches his jaw, unnerved by the overwhelming effect such a small action has on him. He’s never been one to take too kindly to defeat, yet every inch of his body is hyperaware of how tightly Five has a hold on him, how powerless <em> he </em> is, and <em> shit </em> it’s sort of fucking hot. Diego inhales a slow, steadying breath in through his nose. Five takes his sweet time extricating himself from him, first dropping the blade from his neck and then unclenching his fingers from his hair. </p><p> </p><p>Five steps around Diego to his front, flipping the knife experimentally in his hand. He stands there in his stupid perfect clothes that are impeccably unwrinkled, not a single hair out of place. “And here I expected more from the family’s <em> best </em>fighter,” he goads. </p><p> </p><p>Diego’s face grows hot, overwhelmed by both his pathetic loss and the heat pooling in his abdomen.</p><p> </p><p>He’s suddenly thankful for the loose fit of his black gym shorts. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re full of cheap shots,” Diego huffs, climbing back to his feet and staring down at Five who seems to have forgotten the concept of personal space. His lips are stretched wide into a devilish grin and he beams up at Diego, not even a foot of space between them. </p><p> </p><p>“And you’re completely void of any competence.”</p><p> </p><p>Diego bites his tongue, opting instead to glower at Five. He goes to pluck the knife from Five’s fingers and Five bends that arm back and out of his reach, his opposite hand coming up to push Diego back by his chest with a finger. </p><p> </p><p>Diego reaches forward. “<em>Five</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t think so.” Five’s expression turns sickly saccharine. “You can have it back, but only if you can pry it away from me.”</p><p> </p><p>By the time their training ends, Diego is down two knives in total and has gained a handful of bruises in return. Five blinks out of the room leaving behind a sore ego and a man in desperate need of a lengthy cold shower.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>The next handful of sparring days go by similarly. Five gets the upper hand on Diego in a myriad of ways and skates by each fight relatively unscathed. In the few situations where Diego gets close to defeating him, Five always manages to pull some unexpected move out of his ass to win, despite Diego’s hopes that the differences in their size and strength would eventually play into his favor enough. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m surprised you’ve made it this far in life,” Five comments one day during a break. “I’ve beaten you twenty eight times, roughly.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, well the assholes I’m taking care of on the streets aren’t annoying little shits who can teleport,” Diego answers between gulps of water. </p><p> </p><p>“Makes sense. If they could, you’d definitely be dead by now.” </p><p> </p><p>“Ha ha,” Diego deadpans, rolling his eyes. He grabs a handful of the front of his shirt and pulls it upwards, wiping the sweat off his face and savoring the feeling of the cool air against his bare abdomen. He smooths the shirt back down when he’s finished and catches a pair of green eyes as they’re flicking back up to his face. Diego can’t hold back a smug grin, watching Five look away and take a distracted sip of water, feigning innocence. </p><p> </p><p>He never took Five as the type to <em> ogle</em>. </p><p> </p><p>“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he says with a wink, unable to really help himself and knowing damn well neither his comment or gesture won’t go over well.</p><p> </p><p>And he’s right, of course. Five chokes on the water and his entire face wrinkles in disgust, though his cheeks and ears grow deceptively pink. It’s hilariously adorable how flustered he is and Diego beams knowing that he can ruffle Five’s feathers in such a way. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s an actual miracle anyone can tolerate being around you long enough to hold a conversation without driving a railway spike through their own skull,” Five hisses. </p><p> </p><p>Diego arches an eyebrow. “You’re one to talk. Anyone ever tell you that you can be a real dick?” </p><p> </p><p>Five rolls his eyes. “All the time,” he answers flatly. “Are you done preening? We’ve got work to do.”</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>“You’re getting better,” Five comments a few weeks in. For the first time he looks as if he hasn’t been skating by their training with ease. His hair is a bit tousled and Diego can see a few beads of sweat dotting his forehead. He’s still winning every match, though Diego definitely gave him a run for his money this previous round. “You’re lasting about thirteen seconds longer than when we first started. On average anyway.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, and maybe one day I’ll actually beat your ass.” The frustration associated with being defeated has long since lost its sting and now Diego finds joy in the simple act leaving Five with as many battle wounds as he can. Just a few days ago Five showed up complaining about a sore rib cage. </p><p> </p><p>Diego did make a point to wail on him with a little less force after that.</p><p> </p><p>Five scoffs. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.” He watches Diego finish guzzling water from his bottle and holds his hand out expectantly once he finishes.</p><p> </p><p>Diego eyes him amusedly. “Now I know you were raised to have manners. Ask nicely, and maybe I’ll share.”</p><p> </p><p>An uncharacteristically sweet smile pulls at Five’s lips. “Piss off.” In a split second he blinks to Diego’s side, swipes the bottle from his hand, and blinks across the room. He gives an acknowledging tilt of the bottle towards Diego, his smile still in place.</p><p> </p><p>“Brat,” Diego grumbles to himself, snatching a blade from his harness and flicking it out. The knife cuts a path through the air between them and slices through the cuff of Five’s shirt as he’s bringing the bottle to his lips. It catches him by surprise, jarring his wrist and causing the bottle to slip from his grip. Five’s face snaps up just as Diego manipulates two more knives at him,  this time both of them snagging the sleeve of his shirt and planting into the wall behind him, pinning his arm there. </p><p> </p><p>Diego approaches Five with a satisfied grin. Five’s eyes narrow and he immediately starts yanking at one of the knives in the wall, struggling with the awkward angle and how deeply embedded they are. Diego takes in a triumphant breath, enjoying the sight of Five cornered and powerless for once.</p><p> </p><p>“Looks like a please would have gotten you a long way,” he notes conversationally, pausing before Five and folding his arms over his chest. “If you ask nicely, maybe I’ll consider pulling those out for you.”</p><p> </p><p>“You <em> do </em>realize I can teleport out of this,” Five seethes through clenched teeth.</p><p> </p><p> Interestingly enough, he doesn’t do just that. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, you could. Or you could just stop being such a prick and play nice for once.” </p><p> </p><p>“I don’t ‘play nice’, Diego.” Five’s expression shifts, becoming venomous, and he adjusts his grip on the knife handle. “Never quite learned how.”</p><p> </p><p>With a grunt and a surge of effort, Five tears the knife from the wall and makes an attempt to slash at Diego with what little room he has to move. Diego’s forearm redirects the hit into the empty space to his right and he knocks the knife from Five’s hand with his elbow. In one fluid motion he grabs a hold of Five’s wrist and twists his arm back up over his head, pressing it firmly against the wall. </p><p> </p><p>Five glares wildly up at him, his nose flaring with each heavy breath, looking every bit like a petulant adult. Diego closes the space between them until they’re nearly standing chest to chest, and beams down at Five with the most cloying smile he can muster. </p><p> </p><p>“All you gotta do is say please,” he hums. </p><p> </p><p>He watches Five press his head back against the wall, his scowl wavering as Diego infringes further on his personal space. The disdain that pulled Five’s face taut only moments prior loosens some of its hold and his curiously dilated eyes flicker down briefly to Diego’s mouth. Diego’s free hand finds the remaining knife in the wall, his fingers encircling the handle.</p><p> </p><p>He tilts his chin down, giving Five an imploring look from beneath his brow. “Just gotta say the magic word, Five.” </p><p> </p><p>Five’s flushed cheeks only darken with Diego’s words, contradicting the wrinkled forehead and deep frown he attempts to hold onto resolutely. Diego can’t really believe that Five is still here and <em> hasn’t </em> jumped himself out of the situation, and he swallows hard. He’s hyper aware of how hard his heart is pounding against his sternum. His lips part for a nervous gulp of air and he works to convince himself to just do it, to just <em> fucking lean forward and </em>—</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck off.” Five bares his teeth with an acerbic smile. “<em>Please</em>.” </p><p> </p><p>He drives a knee up hard and right into Diego’s crotch. </p><p> </p><p>Diego falls to the ground like a sack of bricks and Five blinks out of the room, leaving behind nothing more than a sliver of fabric left caught between the knife and the wall. A loud, guttural moan leaves Diego’s mouth and he lies on the ground in the fetal position, clutching his balls in agony, willing himself through the nearly insurmountable urge to vomit.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Fuck</em>,” he gasps.</p><p> </p><p>He lays on the floor for at least a half hour as the pain and nausea ebbs away before he can bring himself to sit up. He places his head in his hands, staring at the black flooring beneath him. </p><p> </p><p>What the fuck?</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>Five doesn’t come back the next day. Or the day after that.</p><p> </p><p>It’s not until a whole week goes by that Five finally shows up again in the training room, an hour past their normal time. Diego is already halfway through his workout, not noticing Five’s presence until he finishes a round of chin ups and turns to pace through his fifteen second break.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Christ</em>,” he startles, annoyed that he’s been caught by surprise so easily. He frowns and pants to catch his breath. “Shit, what the hell are you doing creepin’ around like that?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m here to train.” Five’s voice is controlled, aloof. </p><p> </p><p>Diego looks at the analog clock mounted on the wall. “An hour late?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m here, aren’t I?”</p><p> </p><p>“You didn’t show up the entire last week.”</p><p> </p><p>“I had a prior engagement.”</p><p> </p><p>“Did you forget how to use a phone?”</p><p> </p><p>Five shrugs. “Slipped my mind. Did you want to keep interrogating me or are you ready to do this?”</p><p> </p><p>Diego folds his arms over his chest and looks at Five wearily. “You know what, I’m not so sure I am. Last time I saw you, you kneed me so hard in the balls I couldn’t see straight for an hour. And then you disappear for a week and show up now acting like nothing happened.”</p><p> </p><p>If he’s being honest with himself, the entire last week Diego has been unable to let their previous encounter out of his mind. It’s the first thing he thinks of when he wakes up and it follows him through the remainder of his day, a constant and distracting presence all the way up until bedtime. On more than one occasion he slipped a hand down his boxer briefs in bed and got off just to the memory of Five pinned between him in the wall, coming shamefully fast each time. Even after that, sleep didn’t come to him easily.</p><p> </p><p>Twice he drove by the academy while patrolling the streets in the late hours of the night and both times he saw Five in his room, though curiously enough at no point during either visit was he writing on the walls. Instead he was pacing relentlessly back and forth with hand clawing at the back of his neck.</p><p> </p><p>Good. If Diego is tossing and turning all night over it then the least Five can do is be stumped on his stupid fucking equations. </p><p> </p><p>The composed look on Five’s face falters, guilt creeping in and softening the edges the slightest. “That was… a poorly calculated decision,” he admits. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”</p><p> </p><p>A beat passes. Diego gnaws the inside of his cheek, scrutinizing Five heavily. As proficient as Diego is at maintaining a long term grudge, he doesn’t really want to leave things like that with Five. He missed their daily sparring sessions a lot more than he’s willing to admit and maybe even mourned each day that passed where Five didn’t show up. And despite the hastiness of Five’s apology, it actually does sound genuine, especially for a man who isn’t usually keen on admitting he’s wrong. </p><p> </p><p>“Fine,” Diego eventually sighs, dropping his arms to his sides. “Apology accepted. We good?”</p><p> </p><p>Five nods stiffly. “We’re good.”</p><p> </p><p>“Alright, well, you can sit and wait. I still got another four left on this interval.” </p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>It feels good to be training with Five again.</p><p> </p><p>Diego isn’t sure if he’s particularly sharp after their week long break or if something is off with Five, but he is getting more hits on him than ever. For the first time since their last training session, Diego feels like he can actually focus all his attention onto something without intrusive thoughts getting <em> too </em>much in the way. Their most recent spar lasted longer than any other and Diego came closer than ever to completely gaining the upper hand and winning. </p><p> </p><p>“What’s with you today?” he asks Five once they disengage. </p><p> </p><p>Five glares at him, pushing his hair back and out of his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”</p><p> </p><p>“Chill out man, I’m just making sure you’re okay,” Diego placates, refraining from rolling his eyes. “You seem really distracted, that’s all.”</p><p> </p><p>Five mulls Diego’s words over, clenching his jaw while he does so. He finally relaxes it with a sigh and admits, “Haven’t slept much lately.”</p><p> </p><p>“What’s that mean,” Diego asks, taking note of the particularly heavy bags under Five’s eyes, “less than three hours a night?”</p><p> </p><p>“Pretty much.”</p><p> </p><p>“Math shit?”</p><p> </p><p>“Math shit,” Five echoes after a short pause. </p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t offer much more of a means to continue the conversation, instead busying himself with a gulp of water and wiping his mouth on his sleeve. Diego lets the matter drop, though he doesn’t believe Five for one second that his equations were the factor keeping him from a night’s rest. </p><p> </p><p>Diego rolls his head, sending little cracks and pops up his neck. “Alright. You ready to go again?”</p><p> </p><p>Five jumps to the opposite side of the room where the exercise equipment is stored and grabs a thin, purple, elastic resistance band from one of the shelves. He gives it a few testing stretches. He nods to himself, wrapping it loosely around his right hand, and then looks up at Diego with a crafty grin. </p><p> </p><p>“Ready.” </p><p> </p><p>Five blinks in front of Diego, dodging right hook as he appears and swiping a low kick at Diego’s shins to knock him off his feet. Diego throws himself back and evades the sweep with ease. Five vanishes in a flash and Diego spins in a half turn, redirecting the fist that comes flying towards him and catching Five’s arm. He yanks Five close and then brings his heel up and drives it into his stomach. </p><p> </p><p>Five’s grunt dissolves into a hiss as he stumbles backwards doubled over, an arm impulsively curling around his abdomen. Diego offers him a smug grin and Five sneers in response, blinking again and driving an elbow into Diego’s side, eliciting a groan. Before Diego can react, there’s a flash of purple and then Five’s pulling the resistance band hard against his neck. A choked noise leaves Diego’s lips and his hands fly to the band and <em> holy fucking hell. </em></p><p> </p><p>Five is a real fucking bastard. </p><p> </p><p>“Nighty night, Diego,” he hums next to his ear. </p><p> </p><p>Diego grasps at the band, sliding a few fingers between it and his throat and pulling, but Five’s putting all his weight into his hold. Gasping for air, Diego grabs blindly at his torso until his hand finds a knife handle. He unholsters it and with every last bit of effort, pulls the band as far from his neck as it will allow and slides the blade in against the elastic. </p><p> </p><p>Five stumbles backwards with a yelp as the resistance band snaps and Diego wheezes in a breath, the blade falling from his fingers. Through bleary eyes, Diego turns and grabs one of Five’s flailing arms, spins so his back is to Five, and drops down hard onto one knee, hauling Five’s weight up and over his shoulder. Five scrambles midair and there's a show of his hands glowing blue, but the floor meets his back before he can teleport. Diego throws his weight forward and atop Five, pinning him to the floor with a straddle and holding Five down with a hand to his chest. His other hand swipes a knife from his holster. </p><p> </p><p>Loud pants are the only sound breaking the silence of the room, Diego’s more strained than Five’s. Five is propped up by bent elbows on the floor behind him. Diego holds Five’s gaze and from the corner of his eye he notices Five’s fingers inching towards the knife that lies just a few inches from his palm. </p><p> </p><p>Diego makes a soft ‘nuh-uh’ sound and shakes his head, receiving an irritated pinched brow in return. He leans in close and presses the blade of his knife hard enough into Five’s inner thigh for him to feel it through the fabric of his pants.</p><p> </p><p>“Femoral artery,” Diego says, his voice raspy and face breaking into a cocky smirk. “You’re dead asshole.” </p><p> </p><p>Five’s eyelids flutter with the realization of the situation dawning on him, his head tilting downwards to see the knife himself. He looks back up at Diego, surprise evident across his face.</p><p> </p><p>“You win,” he states distantly.</p><p> </p><p>Diego beams. “Yeah, I <em> do</em>.” </p><p> </p><p>A beat passes.</p><p> </p><p>Diego’s mouth opens to rub his victory in further, but he is cut off by Five pushing himself up onto his palms and catching his lips between his own. </p><p> </p><p>There’s an incredibly brief moment of hesitancy from both parties and then Five’s grabbing a fistful of Diego’s shirt and Diego’s slanting his mouth open against Five’s, tossing his knife aside. There’s a sigh from one of them and Diego slides a hand to cradle his jaw, splaying his other palm against Five’s abdomen.</p><p> </p><p>Their motions are frantic and eager, weeks’ worth of pent up tension building up to this inevitable moment. Five kisses Diego back hungrily, clinging to the back of his neck. Diego can already feel that he’s half hard, his body keeping up with everything even if his brain is still foggy with disbelief. He pushes forward and guides Five down until his back meets the floor, adjusting a knee so it sits between Five’s legs and grinds against his dick. </p><p> </p><p>Five breaks the kiss with a shaky breath and his eyes flicker open, half lidded. Diego turns his attention to Five’s neck, bringing his mouth down to occupy himself there. His fingers drift from Five’s stomach and down to the line of his shirt. He pushes the fabric up, running his hand along the smooth skin of Five’s abdomen, and then hooks his fingers into the hem of Five’s pants. </p><p> </p><p>“Diego.” Five’s voice is strained. </p><p> </p><p>Diego doesn’t stop his ministrations. His mouth will likely leave a red mark along Five’s neck. “Yeah?”</p><p> </p><p>“Someone could walk in.”</p><p> </p><p>“And?”</p><p> </p><p>Diego doesn’t need to look to know Five is rolling his eyes at him. He’s too preoccupied with his assault on Five’s skin to really take note of his glowing hands clenching his shoulders, but there’s an abrupt feeling of weightlessness and Diego’s stomach flies into his throat. They’re already landing with a somewhat hard fall onto a wooden floor and Diego groans. His knees scream from the impact and he fights back the sudden nausea assaulting his stomach. </p><p> </p><p>“Jesus, warn a guy next time before you do that,” he bemoans, blinking and tilting his head to gain his bearings. </p><p> </p><p>“Don’t be dramatic,” Five says distractedly, pulling Diego by his collar back down to him. Diego turns his head and Five’s lips land on his cheek with a disgruntled frown. </p><p> </p><p>Diego looks at him pointedly. “Hey, genius.” </p><p> </p><p>Five huffs. “<em>What</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>“You realize we’re in Allison’s room, right?”</p><p> </p><p>Five bends his neck up to assess their landing through squinted eyes, taking in the posters of boy bands lining the walls and stuffed animals on the furniture. “Huh.” </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.” Diego pauses. “You good with this?” </p><p> </p><p>Five shrugs. “Not like she lives here.”</p><p> </p><p>Good point. Five’s tongue in Diego’s mouth is another good point, so he lets the matter drop. </p><p> </p><p>It doesn’t take long for Diego’s hand to find the front of Five’s pants and run along the outline of his erection. A soft sound catches in Five’s throat and his hips roll up hard into Diego’s palm. Five eagerly reaches for his own belt and zipper, fumbling with both until he becomes so impatient that he tears his mouth away to see what he’s doing. Diego snorts, ignores the heated and half-hearted glare Five shoots him, and wastes no time helping him pull his pants and boxer briefs down below his ass. </p><p> </p><p>Diego guides his hand up the length of Five’s dick and stops at the head, keeping his touch light and teasing. The muscles of Five’s abdomen tremble with each brush of Diego’s fingers against his dick and he makes a frustrated sound.</p><p> </p><p>“Just - get <em> on </em>with it already.”</p><p> </p><p>“You sure know how to set the mood,” Diego answers, wrapping his fingers around the base of Five’s dick. Five’s glare wavers and he tries resolutely to hold onto it by working his jaw, but the lust on his face is evident. </p><p> </p><p>“I <em> could </em>make you ask nicely,” Diego muses, keeping his motions slow. “But I’m pretty sure you’d rather leave with blue balls than do that, right?”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t ask stupid questions,” Five hisses, his hand tangling painfully in Diego’s hair. “Unless you need a reminder of the last time you tried that.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah?” Diego pulls his hand away from Five’s dick and brings it to his mouth. He drags his tongue over the length of his palm, languid and slow, and green eyes follow every bit of the motion. Diego drops the hand back down to Five’s dick, enjoying the sight of Five lips parting and his chest quivering with an unsteady exhale. “I think you’re past that.”</p><p> </p><p>Diego jerks him off, keeping his motions unhurried and deliberate, not picking up speed until Five is panting and clawing at him. Diego brings his mouth to Five’s as he feels him getting close to his orgasm. Five returns the kiss — sloppy, distracted — his body arching up and hips trembling until he finally comes, tearing his lips from Diego’s with a muffled moan and leaving nail marks on Diego’s scalp and hips. Diego savors every bit of it, stroking him through until the end of his climax.</p><p> </p><p>Five’s body eventually unfurls back down to the floor and his chest rises and falls heavily with each breath. He dislodges his fingers from Diego’s hair to rub at his temple, his eyes still closed. “Shit,” he breathes. </p><p> </p><p>Diego’s grin remains in place. He reaches up to Allison’s bed to swipe a blanket off the foot of it, wiping his hand off and then the front of Five’s shirt. </p><p> </p><p>“So, five star review?” he asks, laying on his side next to Five and propping himself up with his cheek in his palm.</p><p> </p><p>Five peeks an eye open at him with noncommittal annoyance and closes it. “Are you really this desperate for validation?”</p><p> </p><p>“Only if it bothers you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Zero out of five.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ouch. I’m callin’ bull though. At the end, you sounded just like a porn—”</p><p> </p><p>“For <em> once </em>in your life Diego, do the world a favor and stop voicing every insipid thought that comes to mind.” </p><p> </p><p>“You’re real pissy for someone who just had the best orgasm of their life.”</p><p> </p><p>“What an adorable assumption.”</p><p> </p><p>Diego snorts. “Double ouch.” He pauses, diverting his eyes around the room and then back to Five, hoping his voice doesn’t sound too expectant when he asks, “Same time tomorrow?”</p><p> </p><p>Five scoffs. He doesn’t answer right away, instead keeping his eyes shut and making an act of lifting his brow, seemingly in deep thought over Diego’s suggestion. Diego squirms with the wait. When Five eventually does answer, there’s a subtle curl to the corner of his mouth. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. Same time tomorrow.”</p><p>
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